Worthless Priceless
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: Story adopted from Captain Pihkal: Slavery AU – At a slave market Kurt rescues a slave from certain death and takes him home. Hurt/Comfort
1. Introduction

**INTRODUCTION**

**_Worthless/Priceless_ isn't my story**. I've adopted **Captain Pihkal**'s wonderful fanfic when she no longer had time to write it and graciously allowed me to take over, starting with chapter 14. I work with the author's original outlines and send the new chapters to her for approval, so the story will unfold the way she always planned it to, and it will be completed.

I will only post those chapters here that I have written so far, and I will continue to update the story here as I add more. To read from the beginning, if you haven't yet, please go here s/8137332/1/Worthless-Priceless (just paste it after the address of the main FF site).

Enjoy, I think you will love it :) And don't forget to leave a warm comment for Captain Pihkal there!


	2. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

"… and then of course Rachel had to tell Miss Holiday – that's the substitute teacher we've had for History this week – about the test we were supposed to have tomorrow. So I have her to thank for the fact that I'll be studying tonight instead of having a nice relaxed evening," Kurt said between mouthfuls of his salad. There was a hum of acknowledgement in the phone pressed to his ear, and a quiet clink of cutlery against a plate indicating that the person at the other end of the line was eating, too. Kurt smiled. "But don't worry, Blaine, I will still have time to bake cookies with you like I promised."

"Thank you, Kurt!" Even Blaine's carefully controlled tone couldn't hide his excitement. He'd only helped Kurt with baking twice so far, some muffins and banana bread, but it looked like he really enjoyed it.

Kurt grinned around the last forkful. Then his eyes fell on the clock over the door and he sighed.

"Okay, my lunch break is almost over, I have to go. You just finish eating and then do whatever you feel like doing, okay? I'll be back after four."

"Yes, Kurt. Thank you."

Kurt disconnected and gathered the containers from his lunch to throw them in the trash on his way out of the astronomy classroom where he was hiding.

Almost two weeks had passed since that first day Blaine stayed home alone when Kurt went to school. Things had mostly been peaceful since then. Blaine could finally eat what everyone else did and while he was still much too thin, he no longer looked like the exhausted shadow of a boy Kurt had brought home that November afternoon. His cuts and bruises were mostly healed now, and even the swelling in his knees had gone down almost completely. He was doing much better overall, but Kurt still preferred to call home during his lunch breaks to make sure Blaine was okay. They usually ended up eating together on the phone.

Kurt slipped into the cafeteria five minutes before the bell. Most of the Glee club had already finished eating and were now sitting around the table – Finn and Puck gesticulating wildly as they discussed some football strategy, Rachel with her nose buried in a book, with Quinn in her usual spot at her feet. Tina was whispering urgently to Mercedes, her face pale and grim as it often was lately. Santana was still absent, probably lost on the phone with Brittany in some quiet corner. The only times she and Kurt ate lunch with the rest of the Glee club in the last weeks had been those few days when Santana brought Brittany over to Kurt's house for the day so that the two slaves could keep each other company while their owners were at school.

Not that anyone noticed, really. There was always more than enough drama surrounding the members of their tiny club. People skipping lunch weren't high on the scale.

The bell announced the end of the lunch break and their whole group gathered their things to move to their respective classrooms. Only three more classes and Glee, and then Kurt would be able to go home. The thought made him smile.

"So, you and Santana?" A familiar voice sounded right behind him. He turned, startled, and found himself confronted with a no-nonsense, curious face of Mercedes.

"What?"

"Is there a little something-something there?" Mercedes wiggled her eyebrows.

Kurt's eyes widened. "What are you talking about? You know I'm gay."

"Well, you two keep disappearing at the same times and you both come back all smiley and happy. And she's not half as bitchy with you now as she used to be." Mercedes put her hand on Kurt's arm, smiling when he shook his head fervently. "Hey, it's okay, boo. I know I used to have a crush on you, but I'm not jealous, don't worry." She winked and turned away to walk to her next class.

"There's nothing going on between Santana and me!" Kurt yelled to her retreating back when he finally regained his voice. In the emptying hallway it carried like a bell. Several heads turned curiously.

Oh great. Like he didn't have enough to deal with.

* * *

The rest of the day dragged unmercifully, and Kurt sighed with relief when he finally pulled into the driveway in front of his house. He knew what he would find when he went inside: a spotless kitchen with the lunch dishes washed and put away, a cup of hot tea waiting for him on the table and–

"Good afternoon, Kurt!"

His favorite part – Blaine in the hallway, waiting to greet him by the door.

Blaine wasn't kneeling, just standing in the hallway, and Kurt knew he only came here when he heard the car, but he did this every day without a fault. They had talked about it, he told Blaine time and again that he didn't expect him to run to the door to meet him every time he came home, or to take his coat to hang it up, but Blaine so clearly enjoyed this part of his day that Kurt couldn't deny him the pleasure. Especially when he secretly adored it, too.

"Thank you," he said when Blaine took his scarf and draped it neatly over the hanger. "How was your day?"

"Very good, thank you," Blaine replied with a smile. "I listened to some music today like you told me I could, and I enjoyed it very much. But–" he hesitated and Kurt frowned, immediately worried.

"What? What happened?"

Blaine looked unsure, his eyes set down and head bowed in an automatic pose of slave submission. "I noticed some dust on your shelves when I was choosing the music to play, and I cleaned it." When Kurt didn't say anything, confused, Blaine added quietly. "I know you didn't tell me to clean your shelves, I apologize."

_Oh._

"You thought I'd be upset with you because you cleaned my stuff?" Kurt asked incredulously.

Blaine glanced up at him. "Some masters don't like their things touched without permission."

_I'm not a master_, Kurt wanted to say, _I just want to help you_. But he knew by now that it wasn't what Blaine needed to hear.

"Well, you are allowed to touch all of my things," he said instead. "That are out in the open," he added after a beat. There were definitely some notebooks and things deep in his drawers that he didn't want Blaine to see. Or anyone, really. "And thank you for cleaning my shelves. But you don't have to do it, you know. I can clean my room myself."

"I like doing things for you." Blaine sounded shy, his eyes big and earnest as he looked up at Kurt, and something fluttered in Kurt's chest, warm and affectionate.

"How about those cookies now?" he asked before he could say something that would make Blaine uncomfortable. "I'll just go change first. Could you prepare the ingredients? The recipe is on the fridge."

Blaine nodded eagerly and nearly skipped to the kitchen.

* * *

"Did you have time to work with your book today?" Kurt asked as he sifted the flour ten minutes later. Beside him, Blaine was carefully cracking eggs into a small bowl.

"I did, yes. I work with it every day like you told me to."

"So what are you on right now?" Kurt wasn't regularly checking his progress, leaving Blaine to work by himself for now. That first book was mostly simple reading exercises and basic math, and Blaine had looked through it and declared he remembered doing similar things with his brother back when he was a child.

"Um, math word problems."

Something in his tone caught Kurt's attention and he stopped what he was doing to look at Blaine. "Are you having trouble with them?"

Blaine's eyes widened. "Oh, no, Kurt. I… I was unable to finish the whole chapter today but I will do better tomorrow, I promise. I will work all day and I will finish this chapter and the next one like I'm supposed to."

Kurt gently lay his hand on Blaine's arm to stop him from spiraling further into panic. "Hey, it's okay! You don't have to do the whole chapter if it's too much, and no one is going to be angry with you if you don't understand something. Just tell me if you have a problem with anything and I will help you, okay?"

Blaine nodded, his voice still a little tremulous. "Yes, Kurt. Thank you, Kurt."

"We'll look into it after dinner, alright? Now, could you chop some walnuts? I'm in the mood for something more interesting than just chocolate chips today."

* * *

The cookies turned out delicious – just the right combination of crunchy and gooey. It was the first time Blaine had eaten homemade cookies, and the blissful expression on his face made Kurt smile fondly. He was already thinking what delights to introduce Blaine to next.

It was his turn to clean after dinner. Blaine helped him gather the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, but there were still a few pots left to wash by hand.

"Blaine, how about you get your book and I will come help you as soon as I'm done?" he asked as he turned on the water. Blaine nodded and left the kitchen.

"Help him with what?" Finn was still standing by the cookie jar.

"Finn, for god's sake, take a plate if you're still eating. There are crumbs everywhere." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Sorry," Finn mumbled and put a hand under the cookie he was munching on. "So what does Blaine need help with?"

"Math," Kurt said absentmindedly, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on a pan.

"Oh. Ugh. I hate math." Finn grabbed two more cookies and left the kitchen.

* * *

The door to Blaine's room was wide open when Kurt approached it a few minutes later, and Blaine was sitting on his bed. But he wasn't alone.

"Oh wow, and you're supposed to read and understand three pages of explanations just to learn how to solve simple word problems? Man, this book totally sucks." Finn was sitting cross-legged next to Blaine, the book open on the bed between them. "Just ignore these, all you need to do is use your imagination. I mean, you can add, subtract and all that, right?"

Blaine nodded and Finn beamed at him.

"So the rest is easy. Like in this one: imagine that man standing there with his forty apples, and all those kids waiting in line to get a few. And then just–"

The door squeaked as Kurt leaned against the frame and Blaine looked up, startled out of his focus.

"Kurt!" He looked like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.

Kurt smiled. "I see that you're in good hands." Finn grinned proudly. "Is it okay if you leave you two to it then? I have a history test to study for."

Both boys nodded. Kurt could hear Finn resuming his explanation before he even reached the stairs.

When he came down to say goodnight a few hours later, Blaine was still sitting on his bed with the book in his lap, alone now. Kurt knocked on the open door.

"Hey, how are the word problems?"

"Oh, I just finished the chapter!" Blaine beamed at him. "Finn explained it all to me and it's really easy now."

"I'm proud of you," Kurt said and the smile it put on Blaine's face melted his heart a little. "And I'm glad you're getting on so well with Finn. I'm off to bed, don't stay up too long, Blaine. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Kurt."

Kurt couldn't help the thought that his name sounded different on Blaine's tongue this time. Not like a title – more like something soft and pretty, spoken with reverence.

* * *

It was the last Friday before Christmas and Kurt had plans. He went Christmas shopping with the girls after school – hours spent at the mall looking for the perfect gifts, and then coffee, because really, shopping should be considered a sport for how exhausting it was.

When he finally got home, laden with bags and packages, his family was just sitting down to dinner. Kurt slipped into his seat with a sigh and immediately started discussing Christmas menu and decoration ideas with Carole. He was on a roll today, buzzing with excitement. Christmas had always been his favorite holiday, and ever since Carole and Finn moved in, it regained the festive, family feel that he had missed for years.

Finn and Blaine cleaned up the dishes after dinner while Kurt sat with Carole, making shopping lists and a schedule for food preparation next week. They had the slaves from the garage to take care of, too, so cooking and baking would have to commence early. He was still debating baking the first batch of Christmas cookies tonight when Blaine approached him.

"Hey," Kurt smiled absentmindedly. "Did you need something?"

Blaine hesitated, then nodded stiffly. "Yes, Kurt. May I go to sleep early tonight?"

Kurt's eyebrows rose. "Of course you can, you don't even have to ask if you are tired. Go rest. And I will make the gingerbread cookies in the morning," he decided. "Would you like to help me?"

"Of course, Kurt." Blaine smiled weakly.

Kurt watched him as he walked out of the kitchen, a little worried. Blaine had regained a lot of his strength in the last three weeks, but he clearly wasn't fully restored yet.

"He's been quiet all afternoon," Carole said. "I think he missed you."

Kurt felt a pang of guilt. Yesterday, he'd forgotten to tell Blaine that he would be coming home late, and the boy slept in this morning, so Kurt just left him a note to let him know. And then he ignored him all through dinner when he finally came home. No wonder Blaine felt a little left out.

Of course, Kurt knew he technically didn't owe Blaine his attention, but he couldn't help but feel responsible – not just for the slave's physical well-being, but emotional, too. He just wanted Blaine to feel happy and safe here. He didn't save his life only to make him miserable.

Oh well, there was nothing he could do now. He would make it up to Blaine tomorrow. It was the weekend and Kurt had a lot of fun plans around the house that he could involve Blaine in.

* * *

Saturday morning rose bright and beautiful, with fresh snow falling slowly outside and the promise of Christmas in the air. Kurt woke up first, in a great mood, so he descended to the kitchen to make breakfast. The smell of pancakes and fresh coffee soon brought everyone to the table. Everyone – except for Blaine.

Kurt frowned at the clock. It was nine already.

"Finn, could you go wake up Blaine? Tell him breakfast is ready."

It only took a minute for Finn to return – alone and looking concerned.

"I tried, but he wouldn't wake up. I think he's sick, he looks all sweaty and he's breathing funny."

Kurt was out of the kitchen before Finn even finished speaking.

The door to Blaine's room was half open. The boy was curled under the covers, only his face sticking out. His dark curls were matted with sweat and his cheeks flushed.

Kurt sat down at the edge of the bed and gently put his hand on the slave's forehead. His eyes widened. Blaine was burning up, his skin hot and sticky with sweat. Up close, his breathing sounded fast and shallow, terrifyingly labored. Kurt stroked his cheek.

"Blaine. Blaine, honey, wake up," he said softly. "Please wake up."

For a few seconds, nothing happened. And then Blaine sat up on the bed with a gasp that rattled nastily in his chest. He froze for a moment, holding his breath with all of his muscles tensed, before letting out a controlled exhale that seemed to catch in his throat. His eyes were fever-bright and scared, his head bowed in submission.

"I'm sorry, Master," he rasped. "I'm sorry, I'm up now. I'm ready to work. Please don't hurt me, Master, please, I'm sorry, it will never happen again." His voice was breaking as he scrambled, trying to get up, and Kurt's throat clenched at how terrified he sounded. He swallowed the threatening tears and held Blaine's shoulders firmly, careful not to grip too hard.

"Blaine, no, it's okay. It's okay. No one's gonna hurt you. Please don't try to get up. You're sick. You need to stay in bed."

Blaine whimpered, still looking dazed. "I'm fine. I can work. I swear, Master. Please don't punish me."

"_Blaine._" Kurt didn't know what to do. He took a steadying breath. "Blaine, look at me," he said firmly. The boy looked at his face for the first time since he woke up and Kurt spoke softly, soothingly. "You're safe. No one is going to punish you, I promise. You didn't do anything wrong. You're sick. We need to call a doctor or–"

He looked around, helpless.

"Let me try first." Carole was already in the doorway, a digital thermometer in her hand.

Kurt got up from the bed to make room for her, kneeling on the floor by the bed instead. Blaine seemed calmer now. He was still breathing heavily, but his eyes were focused on Kurt's face with a relieved intensity. He jumped, startled, when Carole touched his hand.

"Okay, sweetie, open your mouth. I need to check your temperature – I'm just going to put the thermometer under your tongue, okay? It doesn't hurt."

Blaine looked anxious but nodded obediently. He closed his mouth around the thermometer when Carole prompted him to. The device beeped thirty seconds later. Kurt didn't see the display, but the frown on Carole's face told him it wasn't good. She spoke softly, with a maternal air.

"You did great, Blaine. Now, can you tell me where you're hurting?"

Blaine opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and seemed to choke on it. Carole squeezed his hand. "It's okay, you can just show me."

Slowly, Blaine raised his free hand to touch his throat, sliding it down to his chest, then up to his forehead. Carole nodded.

"Do you feel like you need to cough?"

Blaine nodded quickly, and Carole looked like she was going to cry for a moment. "Oh, honey. It's okay. You can. You never have to control it here. Just let it out. No one is going to punish you for being sick, I promise."

Blaine took a deeper breath and immediately exploded in a violent coughing fit. Once it started, it seemed like it would never stop.

Kurt looked at Carole, confused. He hadn't heard a single cough from Blaine's room since – well, probably ever. Carole sighed.

"Some masters don't like to hear their slaves at all," she explained. "They don't want their peace disturbed, and they punish the slaves who aren't perfectly silent, even when they are sick. It's cruel and unnatural, but the poor slaves have no choice but to learn to fight their bodies' most basic reactions. Of course, holding back like this makes the illness last longer, and if often gets more serious as a result, but it's not like those owners care." She looked back at Blaine. "I'm guessing Blaine had such a sick bastard as a master at some point."

Not for the first time, anger rose in Kurt's throat like a tide at the thought of someone treating this sweet, gentle boy like that. He bit his lip to stop himself from swearing or ranting. This was not the right time.

It took long minutes before Blaine managed to catch his breath.

"Thank you, Madam," he whispered, when he was able to speak.

Carole smiled. "Alright now, lay down and rest. Kurt and I will go to the kitchen and bring you something to eat and some medication, okay?"

After Blaine's earlier reaction, Kurt expected protests, but it looked like the coughing left the boy exhausted. He just nodded and slid back down against the pillows. Kurt quietly left the room after Carole.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked as soon as they were out of the room. "Should we call for Dr Holland?"

"I don't think it's necessary at the moment."

"But–" Kurt said incredulously. "He sounds so sick!"

"It's probably just a cold," Carole said calmly. "Believe me, if you or Finn had the same symptoms, I wouldn't call for a doctor either. I'd give you cold medicine and a lot of hot tea, make sure you are hydrated and resting. So that's what we'll do for Blaine, too. If he gets any worse, we will ask Dr Holland to check on him, but I think it won't be necessary. He's been under such a strain for so long, the poor kid, it's only natural that his body is decompressing now. It means he's feeling safe here, he's finally letting his guard down. I think we can expect some more sicknesses in the coming months as his immune system resets from the survival mode."

Kurt sighed. "You really think he feels safe here?"

"I really do. You take excellent care of him." Carole smiled. "Now come on, let's make some lemon tea. You should put honey on his pancakes, too, it's a natural antibiotic. Once he eats, we'll give him some meds to get his fever down. He'll be fine, Kurt. Don't worry."

Kurt couldn't help but worry though. Blaine only ate a little breakfast and swallowed the pills, looking surprised, but not questioning. His cheeks were still glowing from the fever, but he seemed more lucid now and no longer terrified. He even asked to be allowed to use the bathroom. Kurt helped him get there because it turned out he was wobbly on his legs, and then used the time to quickly change the sweaty sheets on Blaine's bed. He prepared fresh pajamas for him, too, and turned away discreetly as the boy changed. Finally Blaine was back in bed, his eyes drooping, and Kurt left him to rest, resisting the sudden urge to smooth back his curls. Really, his caregiver instincts were getting out of control.

Saturday was filled with Christmas preparations, but Kurt was distracted, one ear always on Blaine's room. He'd told the boy to call for him if he needed anything, but apart from the frequent coughing, it was silent there. Whenever Kurt peeked in, Blaine was either asleep or lying awake, lost in thought. Kurt brought him tea and food a few times, and some more medication when Carole declared it was time for the next dose, but they didn't talk beyond Blaine's quiet "yes", "no" or "thank you, Kurt."

Carole said it was normal and to just give Blaine time. It was probably the first time in years – maybe the first time he remembered – when someone cared for him when he was sick.

Kurt didn't sleep well that night, still worried about the boy downstairs, so it was no wonder really that the first faint whimper made him shoot up in bed, awake and alert.

For a moment it was quiet, but then the sound returned, longer and raw. Kurt was up in a heartbeat, running quietly down the stairs towards its source. Everyone else seemed sound asleep still.

Moonlight was streaming into Blaine's room, bright enough to show the boy lying on his side with his wrists crossed as if they were still bound. He looked like he was having a nightmare, his face screwed in fear, but he wasn't trashing in the sheets. In fact, he looked like he was frozen, paralyzed, his muscles tense and perfectly controlled, his breathing ragged. He whimpered again just as Kurt entered the room, but then his voice rose in panic.

"Please, no, I'll be good." The coughing returned as soon as he spoke, but Blaine tamped it down, fighting to control every breath. It made his next words wheeze out, broken and raw with panic. "Not the knife, please Master, _please–_"

Kurt's blood ran cold. It took three quick strides to get to the bed and then he was dropping to his knees, touching Blaine's wrist and urgently whispering his name to call him back from whatever terror he was reliving.

Blaine's eyes shot open, wide and scared. The relief that washed upon his face when he saw Kurt was immediate.

"_Kurt_," he whispered, a rushed exhale, followed by another bout of coughing quickly muffled in the pillow. Kurt squeezed his hand. It was warmer than normal, but not really hot, as was his forehead. Blaine rolled to his back, panting softly, wrists untangling from their bound position.

"Bad dream?" Kurt asked carefully.

Blaine nodded. In the moonlight, Kurt saw a single tear flow from the corner of his eye, shining silvery as it slid down his cheek to the pillow. He wanted to reach out and brush it dry. He wanted to comfort Blaine, make him feel safe, but he had no idea how.

"Are you okay now? Do you need anything?" he whispered instead.

Blaine turned his head to look at him. He was quiet for a while, and then said, very softly. "I have everything I need. Thank you."

* * *

Sunday passed on more holiday preparations. Blaine stayed in bed, obediently taking his medication and trying to eat, even though he clearly didn't have an appetite. He was still coughing terribly and his fever was rising back between doses of medicine, but he didn't seem to be getting worse. He even tried to get up and "be useful" in the afternoon, when his temperature was down, but he gave up when Kurt ordered him back to bed. At least he was strong enough to go the bathroom by himself now, so that was probably a good sign, Kurt reasoned, though it didn't make him stop worrying entirely.

Blaine slept peacefully that night and looked better in the morning, but it was with a heavy heart that Kurt left for school. He dropped by during his lunch break to check on Blaine – only to find him asleep – and then blew off Glee that afternoon, eager to return home. There were only two more days of school, anyway, and it wasn't as if they had a competition or a performance to prepare for.

Blaine was still in bed when Kurt came home, under strict orders not to leave it today except for bathroom runs and getting food or tea, but he was clearly tired of the bed rest. With nothing to do and no longer sleeping through the day, it must have been really boring to be alone for so many hours. Kurt had an idea.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

Blaine's eyes sparkled like a child's. "Oh, yes, please!"

The big book of fairytales that Kurt cherished when he was little seemed like a good choice, and soon he was sitting on the chair by Blaine's bed, reading to him like his own parents did whenever Kurt was sick in bed as a child. Blaine listened, enchanted.

* * *

It turned out Carole was right. On Tuesday Blaine seemed well on his way to recovery. He was still coughing and a little weak, but he stayed awake through most of the day and even worked some with his book while Kurt was at school. In the afternoon Kurt sat him in front of the TV, swaddled in a blanket, and put on _Aladdin_ for him while he busied himself making dinner. He joined Blaine on the couch halfway through the movie and wasn't sure what was a bigger pleasure – watching one of his favorite Disney movies again or seeing Blaine's face as he discovered it for the first time.

In the evening, the Hummel-Hudsons were invited for a little get together at the garage, but Kurt decided to stay home to keep Blaine company.

"Are you sure?" his dad asked as Kurt went to lock the door behind them. "Cooper is going to be there with Sarah, you haven't seen him in ages. He said they have some good news."

"No, I'm good. Blaine was by himself all day and he's still not feeling too well, I don't want to leave him alone again. Give Cooper a hug from me."

Kurt's dad gave him a long, thoughtful look, but left it at that.

When the sound of the car died down in the street, Kurt returned to the living room where Blaine was still being a blanket burrito.

"How about hot chocolate and the next part of the movie?"

* * *

The phone rang just as he was putting the steaming cups on the table and Kurt smiled when he saw the caller ID, remembering the blond boy from the doctor's waiting room.

"Hello, Jeff," he said as he answered the phone. Blaine looked at him curiously.

"Hi, Kurt! How are you? And how's Blaine?" Jeff sounded polite and a little cautious.

"Good, we're fine. How are you two?" It felt a little awkward to talk with this boy he only really saw once, but Jeff seemed nice and Kurt remembered Blaine's joy at meeting his slave, Nick, whom he knew from their time together with one of his previous owners.

"We're great. So I've been thinking – do you think it would be possible for us to meet so that our slaves could spend some time together? Nick has been dying to see Blaine again."

Kurt smiled. "I think it would be nice." He looked at the boy sitting by his side. "Blaine, would you like to meet up with Nick sometime soon?"

Blaine beamed and nodded fervently. "Yes, please!"

Kurt laughed at the clear enthusiasm in Blaine's voice. "Okay, so it's settled. Blaine has had a little cold and he's still recovering, but he should be completely fine in a few days. How about you guys visit us here after Christmas?"

"Great." Jeff sounded chipper. "Send me your address and the date and we'll be there. Merry Christmas, Kurt!"

"Merry Christmas!"

He disconnected and was just about to put the phone away on the coffee table and grab a remote when Blaine touched his hand. His eyes were wide and earnest.

"Kurt… thank you."


	3. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

The whole house smelled like sugar and spice. Christmas music was flowing from the radio. Fairy lights in the hall twinkled merrily. Kurt pulled the last batch of colorful swirl cookies out of the oven and let out a happy sigh.

"Okay, we're done. Now all that's left is to enjoy our Christmas Eve. Would you like a cookie?"

Blaine shook his head, his cheeks pink from the heat. "No, thank you. I'm still full from dinner. Do you need me to help you with anything else tonight?"

Kurt scooped a small pile of cookies onto a plate. "If you could just take these to the living room. I'll be there in a moment. We've definitely earned the rest of the night off."

Blaine carefully picked up the plate and walked out of the kitchen.

Kurt followed him a few minutes later, five cups of hot chocolate steaming on the tray. When he entered the living room, his family was busy trying to pick movies to watch for the evening.

"Kurt, back me up," Carole exclaimed from her place on the sofa where she was tucked against her husband's side. "It's two against one here."

Kurt grinned. "Let me guess, dad and Finn want _Die Hard _and _Home Alone _again?"

"Yes!" Carole groaned. "I proposed _Love, Actually_ and _Mamma Mia_."

"I'm with you, obviously," Kurt said immediately.

"Oh but see, it's still two against two." His dad smirked with amused satisfaction. "We're at a stalemate, looks like we'll have to compromise."

Kurt arched his eyebrows over the cups he was setting on their Christmas coasters.

"Ah, not so fast. I'm sure Blaine will agree that love, singing and dancing are much more fun to watch on Christmas Eve than terrorists or clumsy robbers with a fixation. Won't you, Blaine?"

When there was no answer, he straightened up and actually looked around the room, frowning.

"Where's Blaine?"

Finn shrugged with his mouth full of crunchy goodness. "He brought the cookies and left."

"Why?"

"Dunno. He didn't, like, say anything."

The tray forgotten on the table, Kurt rushed to Blaine's room. The door was closed, but there was light visible underneath. He knocked.

"Blaine? Are you in there?"

There was a whisper of paper and a startled, "Yes, of course. Please come in."

Blaine was sitting on the edge of his bed, straight-backed and alert, a book on the sheets beside him.

"What are you doing in here?" Kurt asked.

"Oh, I haven't finished today's chapter in my book yet, so I'm doing it now before I go to bed. Did you need me for anything else?"

Kurt frowned. "Well, I hoped you would come sit with us, watch a movie, drink some hot chocolate. It's Christmas Eve after all."

"Oh, I couldn't." Blaine looked down at his hands.

"Why not?"

"It's not my place to be there," Blaine said simply. "Christmas is family time."

"And you're family now, Blaine."

Kurt jumped at his dad's voice right by his side. He hadn't even noticed Burt follow him.

Blaine's head snapped up. He was on his feet instantly and Kurt could see the way his legs buckled slightly with a lifelong instinct to fall to his knees when spoken to. In the end, he simply looked down in deference.

"Sir?"

"Sit down, kid."

Blaine perched on the very edge of the bed again as Burt walked into the room and settled on the chair opposite, his elbows on his knees. Kurt stayed in the doorway, watching.

"Blaine, was this how you spent Christmas before?" Burt asked gently. "Out of sight, out of the way?"

Blaine nodded. "Yes, Sir. I helped with the preparations when I was told to, but Christmas itself was usually quiet time alone for us slaves."

"Have you ever truly celebrated it since you left home?"

Blaine smiled shyly, his face lighting up with a sweet memory. "Once, Sir. There was a group of us one year, and our master went away with his parents for Christmas. There was food left for us and everything, it was wonderful."

Kurt remembered. "Was it when you were with Nick?"

Blaine nodded, his smile growing. "Yes, Kurt."

Seeing his dad's questioning gaze, Kurt explained. "Nick is a slave we met when we went to see Doctor Holland. Turns out he and Blaine were friends for a while when they shared a master. He and his owner, Jeff, are coming over in a couple of days so the boys can spend some time together. Sorry, I meant to tell you."

His dad looked at him thoughtfully. "Okay," he said eventually. "If you met them at Doctor Holland's, I'm sure it's alright."

Then he looked back at Blaine. "You see kid, we don't treat our slaves the way most owners do."

Blaine nodded fervently. "Oh, I know, Sir! You are really good to me, Sir."

"We are just decent people, Blaine. Our slaves become part of our family the moment they cross our threshold. And family means caring about each other and spending time together."

Blaine was looking at him with wide eyes, silent. Burt leaned forward to lay his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You're family now, Blaine. Tomorrow, we're having Christmas dinner with all the other slaves at the garage, and you are coming with us. No hiding in your room, okay?"

Blaine nodded, a hint of a smile raising the corners of his lips.

"Good," Burt said. "And now, I'd like you to come have a nice family night with us."

"Yes Sir," Blaine breathed.

Kurt couldn't hold in a grin at how adorable Blaine looked, stunned and bright-eyed like a child on a Christmas morning. Which wasn't that far from the truth. He couldn't wait to see Blaine's face when he opened his presents tomorrow.

They ended up watching _Mamma Mia_ and then _Home Alone_, an unavoidable compromise, but Kurt didn't even care. He was too busy sneaking glances at Blaine's reactions anyway.

* * *

Christmas gifts in the Hummel-Hudson household were usually exchanged late in the morning, after a leisurely breakfast. This year, it was almost noon before they were done cleaning up after the meal and gathered in the living room. Blaine was hovering uncertainly in the doorway, unsure if he was really welcome here. He was taking in the sparkling Christmas tree with the colorful gifts underneath like it was the most beautiful view he'd ever seen. Kurt took him by the hand and pulled him into the room, sitting him down on the floor by his side as Finn reached for the first packages to distribute.

Kurt loved giving gifts. He enjoyed receiving them too, of course, but there was definitely much more pleasure in watching the reactions to his carefully chosen presents. Now, with his parents focused on unwrapping their gifts for each other on the couch, and Finn already trying out his newest handheld console, Kurt's full attention was on Blaine.

Blaine, who was watching the two gold-wrapped packages in front of him with a disbelieving frown.

"Yes, they are for you," Kurt assured him again. "Look, they have your name." He pointed to the little cards he penned himself.

"But Kurt, it's too much, I don't deserve all this. And I don't even have anything for anyone."

"Of course you don't, no one expects you to have presents for us," Kurt scoffed. "But we can give something to you. Come on, open this one first." He pushed the bigger box towards him. "It's from all of us. The other one is from me."

Blaine unwrapped the package with trembling fingers, careful not to tear the shiny paper. By the time the box inside was revealed, Kurt could barely refrain from bouncing in excitement. Blaine stared at the picture with wide eyes.

"Is it–"

"It's a CD player. I've noticed how much you enjoy music, so now you can listen to it in your room, too. I didn't pick any CDs for you yet, you can use mine. And if you find something else you like on the radio – there's a radio, too, see? – then we can start building your own music library. Do you like it?"

Blaine didn't answer. He was sitting very still, his mouth slightly open. Two tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

Blaine's breath hitched. "And it's really… for me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Kurt stressed.

"I just–" Blaine whispered. "I've never really had anything before. Nothing that was… really mine."

Kurt's throat tightened painfully. He hadn't even thought about it.

"Well, now you do," he said softly. "It's entirely yours."

"Thank you," Blaine choked out.

Kurt handed him the second, smaller package. "Now this. I picked it myself, I hope you like it," he said, feeling suddenly shy. "I mean, you need to have one of those so I thought– Oh, you'll see."

He watched Blaine fumble slowly with the tape, hindered by the box in his lap that he didn't want to let go of even for a minute.

The slim, shiny black box inside finally opened, revealing a simple red bowtie tucked neatly against the white interior.

"It's your collar," Kurt hurried to explain. "Well, kind of. The law only says that the collar needs to go around your neck and contain the owner's information. I wanted it to look cute, so I researched it a bit and–" He took the bowtie out and lay it flat on his knee. "A lot of people do that in big cities, you know – bowties or jewelry instead of classic collars. They want their slaves fashionable, it's quite popular there."

He'd been through these arguments already, in a conversation with his dad when the package arrived a few days ago. Convincing him it was a good idea hadn't been easy, but in the end he had grudgingly agreed. Blaine didn't raise any of the objections Burt had, though. Instead, he reached out to stroke the soft fabric with reverent fingers, his eyes wide.

"It's beautiful."

"It's easy to put on and take off, too," Kurt pointed out, showing him the snap closure at the back. "I know that traditionally collars are locked, but it just seems so inhuman. And my information goes here." He revealed a tiny pocket hidden in the folds of the bow and pulled out a small metal rectangle with his name and address embossed in minuscule script. There, as required by law, but as discreet as possible.

Blaine looked at the metal plate with over-bright eyes. "This is where it says I'm yours."

"Yes."

"I will wear it with pride, Kurt. Thank you."

As much as Kurt despised the collar law, he couldn't deny the warmth that flooded his insides at Blaine's words.

* * *

The garage was on the other side of Lima, a three-story building with the business downstairs and the slaves' quarters above it. Blaine was silent during the drive over, tucked between Kurt and Finn in the backseat, visibly nervous. Kurt was trying to make him relax a little, rattling about the place and its occupants to let him know what to expect.

"There will be nine other people besides us there. I'm sure you will like them. I've known most of them for years now – I literally grew up playing with some of them, especially after my mom died."

Blaine's eyes turned to him, big and earnest. "I didn't know your mom died. I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago, almost ten years now."

"That must have been very hard." The sympathy on Blaine's face made Kurt smile sadly.

"It was," he admitted. "But my dad and I had each other and we survived somehow. I used to spend a lot of time at the garage back then. Some of the slaves there are like uncles and aunts to me. It's really like a big family, you'll see. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Blaine nodded uncertainly and tugged at the collar of the button-up Kurt had put him in. He didn't have the bowtie on – slaves were only required to wear collars in public, and they were going from one private property to another tonight by car. Kurt had dressed him up in nice, crisp clothes though, and even trimmed and styled his shiny curls a little. The clothes didn't hang on him half as much as they had two weeks ago, but they were still too loose, the pants held up only by a wide belt, the shirt baggy over his skinny torso.

"Now that you have a collar, I will be able to take you out shopping. We need to get you some proper clothes," Kurt mused and Blaine frowned, confused.

"But I do have proper clothes. They are very good clothes, Kurt."

"Oh, you have clothes, but I wouldn't call them proper. They don't fit you at all. You need things that you won't be drowning in, Blaine. And I can't wait to play with some colors. You have lovely coloring, I already have some ideas –"

"Just remember you'll be on a budget," his dad piped up from the driver's seat. "Anything above that you're paying for yourself."

"I know, I know," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Spoilsport," he added under his breath.

"I heard that," his dad said dryly as he pulled over in front of the garage. "Okay, here we are. I'll call one of the guys to come out and help us with the packages."

Before he could take out his phone, though, the door at the side of the building opened and a huge, bald man appeared, his face split in a wide grin.

"That's Jim," Kurt told Blaine, who tensed noticeably at the sight of the mountain of muscles trotting towards the car. "He looks scary, I know, but he's just a big teddy bear with a heart of gold. He was dad's first slave at the garage and–"

"The introductions can wait, boys." Burt said. "That trunk won't unload itself."

Kurt shrugged and squeezed Blaine's hand. "Don't worry. Family, remember?"

Despite the reassurance, Blaine was quiet and held close to Kurt's side as they unpacked the various containers and boxes from the car and carried them inside. As they were passing by the customer entrance to the garage, he suddenly stopped. Kurt followed his line of sight to the large, weathered sign by the door.

_WE DON'T  
__**SELL, RENT OUT, **__OR__**  
ALLOW CUSTOMERS TO TOUCH**__  
OUR SLAVES_

"Oh, I almost forgot about this thing," he said. Blaine looked at him questioningly. "It's been here for at least ten years. There was trouble with some people getting handsy, I think. I remember dad lost quite a few customers when he put that sign up." He shrugged. "Come on, let's get out of this cold."

Blaine followed him inside, still wearing an astonished expression.

The slave quarters took up two floors, with five double bedrooms upstairs and a living area occupying the whole floor over the garage. The vast open space was bustling with activity tonight – people laughing and talking, carrying in food from the adjoining kitchen and moving chairs to accommodate everyone. A huge table took up most of the dining space, and it was already set with enough food for a small army. A small, very hungry army. The smells wafting from the steaming platters and saucers were amazing, just like the taste of everything would be, Kurt knew. Rob and Little John, the two slaves who always took over food preparation for special occasions like this, may look like a pair of aging wrestlers, but they cooked like gourmet chefs.

Kurt moved over to the smaller side table to help Carole unpack the desserts and sweets they brought, and a tall, spindly man that everyone called Hopper danced over immediately to give them a hand. He had the sweetest tooth Kurt had ever seen in an adult, and yet his limbs were so thin it seemed like a miracle they were able to hold him up at all. To his side, Kurt could hear the roaring laughter of Ugly Pete, a grizzly slave with a face covered in raised pink scars, courtesy of his old master and his whip. On the other side of the spacious room by the Christmas tree, he saw Fran, one of the two women at the garage, gesticulating wildly as she argued with the youngest of the lot, Andrew. In the kitchen, someone sang loudly and completely off-tune.

To Kurt, it felt like home. But in the middle of all this, Blaine stood alone like a scared, lost child.

Kurt made sure Blaine sat by his side when they finally took their places at the table, and just as he hoped, it seemed to relax the boy. Delicious food and festive atmosphere calmed him down further. Kurt was astonished how gentle everyone was with Blaine, pulling him into conversations, but not prodding him to talk. Even loud Fran, whose lack of filter was so notorious she wasn't allowed to talk to customers at all, stayed sweet and almost swear-free. Burt must have told them all a little about the newest slave in the household because everyone carefully avoided any inquiries about his history, which would normally be the first topic of conversation. Each and every one of them had demons in their past, but his were different. A pleasure slave's hell was paved with horrors the work slaves were not familiar with.

By the time desserts were served, Blaine was smiling and talking animatedly with Shannon, a middle-aged female slave with curly hair and a large, masculine body, whom the other slaves called "Beast" for some reason. They seemed to have found a common tongue, their connection easy and immediate. At one point, Blaine laughed out loud, a short, startled sound that made Kurt freeze, surprised. It was the first time he'd heard Blaine laugh.

Finally, the dinner was done and everyone gathered in the lounge area, chatting and laughing. Some sat on the sofas and armchairs scattered around the large space, others preferred to settle comfortably on the floor. When Kurt came back from helping in the kitchen, he found Blaine standing to the side, watching the scene with awed eyes. To someone who had only experienced mistreatment and abuse from most of his previous masters, this must have seemed like another world, all these happy, relaxed slaves sharing the Christmas night with their owners.

"Okay, gentlemen," Burt called out, standing by the big box under the tree. "And ladies," he added.

"There ain't no ladies here, boss." Fran cackled and the men hooted in agreement. Kurt knew that both Fran and Shannon were as tough as the guys here. They had to be.

"Well good, because I'm not sure ladies would appreciate that foosball table I got you."

A cheer erupted among the slaves, two of them already opening the box, others moving a sofa aside, pushing it to the corner to make room for the new piece of furniture. Finn jumped up to help, almost as excited as the slaves.

Most of the party was now gathered around the foosball table in a happy chaos of bodies and voices. Kurt watched for a few minutes, but soon he got bored with the plastic players kicking the plastic ball, just like he always did with actual football. He stepped back and looked around the room, his eyes instinctively searching for Blaine.

He found the boy on the sofa pushed into the quiet corner. He wasn't alone – Jim was sitting next to him, smiling as they talked quietly. Jim looked up just as Kurt started towards them.

"And here comes the best one of them all," he bellowed with a wide grin. Blaine looked up, noticing Kurt for the first time, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but Kurt was sure he could see his shoulders relax.

"The best of what?" Kurt asked, approaching them.

"Oh, I was just telling Blaine what a wonderful family he has found himself in." Jim turned back to Blaine as Kurt perched on the empty coffee table opposite. "Believe me, kid, I know how scary it is to be thrown from place to place, each worse than the last. But with Mister Kurt taking care of you, you're in the best hands. You couldn't have gotten better owners than the Hummels."

Blaine smiled shyly, looking up at Kurt. "I know."

"Look at Andrew there." Jim pointed out the boy leaning on his crutches, deep in a conversation with Burt. "He came here last year, a 16-year-old with his leg shredded by some harvester in the field mere days before. The dealers said he was patched up and healing nicely, but it turned out there was an infection. A bad one."

Blaine was listening to Jim, transfixed. "And he survived?"

"Oh yes," Jim nodded gravely. "Only thanks to Mister Hummel. A lesser man would have let the kid die once they learnt how bad it was. Not him. He paid for the doctors, medication, everything that could be done, even when they told him the leg had to be cut off. You would think a slave without a leg was useless. And yet here he is, alive and working just like every one of us. He's manning the reception at the garage now. He's damn brilliant at it, too, coming up with all those ads and organizing ideas. I admit I had my doubts, but Mister Hummel said that no matter how broken a slave is, they're still human and with proper care, they can be fixed and have a long, useful life. And damn, he was right."

Blaine looked at Andrew, his expression thoughtful.

Jim seemed to be on a roll. "And if you need any other proof of how good your new owners are – who else but the best would use all this time and effort to free their slaves, right?"

At that, Blaine's eyes snapped back to Jim, uncomprehending. "Free?"

"Well yes!" Jim frowned. "You don't know?" He looked at Kurt. "But… I helped Mister Finn pack the books, I was sure–"

"I was waiting for the right moment to explain," Kurt stuttered, feeling as if he was caught lying.

"Oh damn, Mister Kurt, I'm sorry!" Jim's face fell. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's okay. I was going to tell Blaine soon. And you know more than me anyway, how about you explain the process for both of us, Jim?"

Blaine was glancing between Jim and Kurt, tense and confused. Kurt felt the blush rise on his cheeks. He should have found a way to tell Blaine himself, explain it gently. It was too late now.

"Blaine, Jim is a free man now," he started. "But he used to be a slave here."

"The first slave Mister Hummel bought for his garage, thirteen years ago," Jim added proudly. "I worked for him for ten good years as a slave. Now I have a little apartment in town, but I still work here. I would never leave. No better boss than Mister Hummel."

"But… slaves can really be freed?" Blaine asked quietly, like the concept contradicted everything he knew about the world.

"Oh, we can," Jim said. "It just takes a lot of time and effort, and good people. But it happens. All of the slaves here are eventually going to be free. After me, two more were released – Hopper here, and one more who moved on to start his own family. Our Beastie is next. You will be free one day, too. You're already working on the books, aren't you? Sooner than most of us."

When Blaine met Kurt's eyes, he looked scared – betrayed even. Kurt tried to smile apologetically.

"Well there's still a lot of time. It's mostly to give Blaine something to do as he heals and gathers his strength," he said to Jim.

Blaine seemed to consider it. "But I'm strong and healthy already. So… if I may ask. What happens next? Do I move here to work at the garage as well?"

Kurt knew that was the plan, but the thought of not having Blaine under the same roof, not seeing him every day, was suddenly making his chest constrict. "I… let's focus on now, okay?" He found himself evading.

Jim glanced at him, surprised, then turned to Blaine again. "It's still years till you can be free anyway, kid. The law makes sure slaves can't be released that easily."

"Ten years, right?" Kurt asked, if only to divert Blaine's attention from himself.

Jim nodded. "Well, technically, the slave has to be in their last master's possession for at least five years, but it takes longer than that to gather the money required to declare him financially independent. Your father is paying every slave working here like he would regular employees, except he puts it in their accounts that they will have access to once they are free. It takes ten years to reach the required sum. And then there's still the test."

"What test?" Blaine whispered, looking more overwhelmed by the second.

"Well, people like to believe that slaves are dumber than average free folk, so there's this exam we need to pass before we can be freed," Jim said with a hint of disdain in his voice. "That's what you're studying for, to prove you're smart enough to be a regular citizen. It's pretty big, but don't worry, it's years away."

"Not for me," said Shannon, who had been listening to the conversation, standing silently behind the sofa for a while now. "Mine's in two months," she explained when Blaine looked up at her.

"But… what if a slave doesn't want to be free?" Blaine asked faintly, his face closing off, and Kurt's heart squeezed painfully for him. Maybe it was too early.

"Oh munchkin, of course you do." Shannon walked around to sit on the sofa, squeezing herself between the two men and laying a gentle hand on Blaine's arm. "You don't want to be a slave all your life if you have a way out. But really, don't worry, they aren't going to put you though that ordeal and abandon you. The Hummels are the fucking best. You won't be alone."

Blaine nodded, but he didn't look convinced, just putting on a brave face for the world to see. It was good enough for Jim and Shannon, it seemed. They kept rattling about the change the Hummel family was making, freeing the slaves, showing the world how they should be treated, setting an example.

Kurt stayed there, smiling and blushing and feeling like he didn't deserve all the praise at all.

* * *

They left the garage two hours later. Blaine was quiet, had been for a while now, and Kurt kept looking at him, trying to make sure he was okay. It was hard to tell. He looked exhausted, that was certain. They squeezed into the backseat with Finn and the ride home passed in silence.

Halfway there, Kurt felt a pressure on his shoulder. He looked in time to see Blaine's eyes snapping open, his head jerking up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Kurt. I must have dozed off, I didn't mean to–"

"It's okay." All Kurt wanted was to lay his hand on Blaine's to soothe the nervous shiver, tell him to lean against him if he wanted. "You must be tired. It's been a long day for you."

"It was. But a wonderful one," Blaine said, softly.


	4. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

The doorbell rang and Blaine almost bounced out of the chair he was sitting on. Kurt chuckled fondly.

"Go on then, open the door. I know you can't wait to see him."

"Thank you, Kurt." Blaine called, already halfway to the front door. Kurt followed him at a slower pace, ready to welcome their guests.

It was three days after Christmas, the day of Jeff and Nick's visit. No one else was home – Kurt's parents were at work and Finn had decided he'd rather spend the day with Puck than stay with them. Blaine had been a picture of excitement all morning; Kurt loved seeing this happy side of him even if he was a little bit nervous himself.

He knew nothing about Jeff, really. He knew he took good care of his slave, judging by their first meeting in Doctor Holland's waiting room, but other than that, the boy was a complete stranger. Kurt just hoped they would be able to find a common tongue. This visit was more for Blaine and Nick's sake, but it would be nice to not spend it in awkward silence.

When Kurt got to the hall, the two slaves were already hugging in the doorway, Jeff waiting patiently behind them. Finally they pulled apart, making room in the small entrance area, and after a bit of shuffling around with coats and boots and the box of macarons the visitors brought, the initial chaos was under control and they could move over to the living room.

"May I make drinks for everyone, Kurt?" Blaine asked politely as soon as they were seated.

Normally, Kurt would protest, saying he could do it himself, but he could see how eager Blaine was to actually do something for their guests.

"That would be very nice, Blaine, thank you," he said instead. "I'll have coffee. Jeff?"

"Tea, thanks."

Kurt nodded at Blaine and made sure to add, "And get whatever you like for the two of you, okay?"

"Yes, Kurt. Thank you." Blaine beamed at him.

"I'll go help you," Nick sprang up from the little loveseat in the corner where he'd just settled. "If I may?" he added like an afterthought, looking between Jeff and Kurt.

"Of course," Jeff said, and Kurt nodded.

Kurt could hear them talking quietly the second they left the room. He was alone with Jeff now and for a while, they just looked at each other, smiling awkwardly. Kurt cleared his throat, not sure what to say, then decided they had at least one topic that was sure to be shared.

"So, how long has Nick been with your family?" he asked.

"Almost two years now."

"Oh wow. That's quite a while."

Jeff nodded. "How about Blaine? I never asked."

"Just about a month." Kurt said, a little astonished even as he said that. It felt like so much longer. It was already hard to remember what his life had been like before Blaine became a part of it.

"He looks much better than when we first met," Jeff said.

"Yes, he's healing nicely. Physically, at least."

"So…" Jeff hesitated, then went on. "You really saved him from the market?"

Kurt nodded, his face falling as memories hit him. "They were going to kill him there, I bought him at the last moment."

Jeff's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "Wow. I heard terrible things about those markets but I had no idea–" He paused and schooled his face into an oddly controlled expression. "It was nice of you to do that when buying a healthy, undamaged slave would have been much easier in the long run."

Kurt stared at him. "What?" It took a few seconds before he understood what Jeff was suggesting, but when it registered, he shook his head fervently. "No, no, no, I wasn't there to buy anyone. Not for myself anyway, I was just driving a friend there."

"Oh, so you weren't looking for a…" Jeff looked behind him and finished in a whisper, "a sex slave?"

"Of course not!" Kurt exclaimed, loud enough that the two boys in the kitchen fell completely silent. He toned it down to a furious whisper when they went back to chatting. "They're people, not toys! I only bought Blaine because I had to help him. That's all I want for him, to be safe and happy."

"Oh thank god," Jeff said, clearly relieved and smiling earnestly for the first time since he arrived. The wariness that Kurt had felt from him all along was gone. "I'm sorry, I just know way too many guys who think that having a sex slave is the most obvious and natural thing, and it creeps me out. And seeing how both Nick and Blaine had been sex slaves before, I thought… Anyway, I'm sorry for assuming."

"It's okay. So I guess it _is _safe to assume you did not buy Nick for _that_, either?" Kurt felt himself blush, talking about things like that with a stranger.

"Nope, I sure didn't. In fact–"

He was interrupted when Blaine entered, carrying the tray with four steaming mugs. Behind him, Nick carried a sugar bowl and a cream pitcher. They put it all down on the coffee table, setting the mugs in front of Kurt and Jeff first, then taking their hot chocolate to the side table by the loveseat where they would settle. Kurt had to smile, watching Blaine acting so at home, confident in his task, no trace of fear or uncertainty left.

Nick ran back to the kitchen to put away the tray, and then both slaves stood by the loveseat, looking at their owners, waiting for instructions.

Kurt smiled at them. "Thank you. Don't mind us, I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do."

He looked at Jeff to confirm the other boy didn't have other ideas for what the slaves should be doing, but he just smiled. Blaine and Nick didn't need more encouragement – they sat down and got right back to their conversation. From what Kurt could hear of it, they were talking about their life among the "Warblers" at their old owner's house, remembering other slaves in their group and wondering what had happened to them since.

"I bet Trent's still there," he heard Nick say. Blaine nodded in agreement.

"Of course. He was always Master's favorite. No one else got called in for wake-up sex as often as he did."

Kurt quickly turned his attention back to Jeff, mortified.

Jeff smiled at him sadly.

"So I gather you never talked to Blaine about what he went through with his previous owners?" Jeff asked softly.

"Not in much detail, no. I've heard some of it, and I can guess more from his injuries, but I never asked about anything particular. I guess he'd rather forget, too."

They turned to lighter topics after that, talking about school and hobbies, and all those little things people discuss when they get to know each other. Kurt learned that Jeff was also a senior, and he attended a private school. He sang, like Kurt did, and his Glee club was big enough to take part in competitions. They'd even won Sectionals once. Kurt couldn't help but envy him.

Aside from those few similarities, though, he and Jeff couldn't be more different. Jeff loved all kinds of sports, both watching and playing, and didn't care about Broadway or fashion. He wore whatever was comfortable, didn't read _Vogue_, enjoyed Top 40 music and wanted to become a physical therapist. Despite all the differences, they soon found they really enjoyed each other's company. Before it was time for lunch, they'd already decided they had to make the meetings a regular thing, especially since it turned out they lived just a short drive away from each other.

By the time lunch was over – a cold pasta salad that Kurt had tossed together this morning – they were joking around and laughing with no trace of awkwardness left. It felt good to talk so freely to someone who understood and shared Kurt's beliefs about slaves.

* * *

It was almost time for Jeff and Nick to go home. The two slaves were clinging to each other more and more as the time of separation approached, despite the reassurance that they would get to see each other again soon. Currently, they were on the loveseat again, Nick's arm thrown around Blaine's shoulders, their heads close together as he showed Blaine some vacation pictures on Jeff's cell phone. Kurt was so busy watching them across the room and trying to convince himself the feeling rising in his throat wasn't what he thought it was that he didn't realize Jeff had been actually watching _him _watch them.

"Aww, you're totally in love with him." Jeff bumped Kurt's shoulder playfully, his eyes twinkling.

"What? No, of course not, I'd never–" Kurt shook his head fervently.

Jeff laid a steady hand on his shoulder. "Come on, of course you wouldn't act on it, not when he's still so hurt and skittish. But he won't be traumatized forever. He's already looking so much happier."

"Well he's no longer abused, of course he's happier. But I can't see how he can not be traumatized after what he'd been through," Kurt whispered.

Nick squeezed his shoulder. "He'll be okay. You're taking great care of him, and he's healing, inside and out. Trust me, give it time, you will both figure it out. That's how it happened for us, too. Sort of organically, you know?"

Kurt's jaw dropped a little. "Wait, you mean, you and Nick? You're a couple?"

"Yup." Jeff grinned.

"So you're… gay?"

That made Jeff chuckle. "Obviously. Aren't you?"

"Yes, but I just. I never met another. Gay boy my age, I mean," Kurt stuttered, his eyes wide.

"Sorry Kurt, I'm taken, and happily so." Jeff winked at him and Kurt laughed, the shock slowly passing.

"So you and Nick. Wow. My mind is kind of blown."

"Yeah, I know. It's pretty uncommon to have an actual relationship with your slave." Jeff shrugged. "We tried to fight it at first, since neither of us were sure that this was best for the other, but in the end, we couldn't let it go. I love him and he loves me. That's what counts."

"How long have you been together?" Kurt asked, a little choked up with the revelation.

"Just over a year now."

"And no one knows?"

"Oh, my mom knows, and a few of my closest friends," Jeff said. "They're okay with it. To be honest, I don't really see Nick as a slave, and I hate that we have to remember to act that way in public. But it's not accepted, so we hold up the pretense, at least until Nick is free. Until then, he's working at one of the restaurants my family owns."

"What about next year?" Kurt asked, his own college dilemma on his mind.

Jeff shrugged. "He's gonna move with me when I go to college, of course."

"So you're going to rent an apartment then?"

"No, of course not. Most schools allow personal slaves in the dorms for an extra fee, didn't you know?" Kurt shook his head. He'd never really researched the topic. "I'm trying for the University of Delaware or the University of Pittsburgh because they have some of the best programs in physical therapy. And Nick will be able to keep working in either case because my family's restaurant chain reaches there." Jeff smiled, excited. "I can't wait. Where are you planning to go?"

"New York." Kurt replied, without further details. He wasn't sure about them himself yet.

Jeff nodded. "What about Blaine? Are you taking him with you?"

Kurt hesitated. "I don't know yet. It's all so new. He was supposed to go to work at my dad's garage but…"

"But you can't imagine going without him?" Jeff smiled with understanding. "Told you, you're totally falling for him."

He winked and then got up from the couch and crossed the room to stand in front of the loveseat.

"Okay, we need to go," he said to Nick and reached out his hand. Nick took it and with one last hug for Blaine, got up. Jeff smiled at him. "We'll get together again in a week or two, don't worry, guys."

Jeff's words were still playing in Kurt's head hours later, as he went to bed. He didn't really think he was falling for Blaine. Or was he? He definitely wasn't lusting after him or anything like that. But if he was being honest with himself, he did _like _Blaine… a lot. Thinking of what Jeff and Nick had in each other filled him with longing, and he doubted it was just that he wanted a boyfriend of his own, simply someone to fill that empty spot. The shot of jealousy he felt when he watched Blaine curled up so close with Nick was a pretty good indicator.

Just admitting it in his head felt wrong. After everything Blaine had been through, what he needed was someone to care about him, in an innocent, friendly way. He needed safety, not complications.

It would never work. Kurt just needed to forget about it.

But the seed, once sprouted, would not go anywhere but up.

* * *

Santana's New Year's Eve party wasn't big this year, the only guests being people from New Directions, which was the only reason Kurt considered attending. He'd let Finn convince him to come after his dad and Carole promised they would take good care of Blaine and include him in their quiet celebration at home. He needed a break anyway, an escape from all the thinking he couldn't get away from since his conversation with Jeff.

Going to the party turned out to be a good decision. Surrounded by his friends, Kurt found himself relaxing and having fun. He danced with Mercedes, sang karaoke with Rachel, drank champagne and watched fireworks at midnight. There was even a short, but fierce snowball fight in the backyard afterwards. Since Puck and Santana made sure there was more than enough liquor, Kurt ended up drinking way more than he'd planned. Which was great, up until the moment when his giddy, bubbly mood suddenly dissolved into something definitively darker.

He was sitting on the floor in the corner with Tina at that point, probably because they decided it was the surface least likely to sway underneath them. They were giggling madly, watching Puck hanging a spoon from his nose and trying to teach Artie to do the same, and then, within an instant it took to look at Rachel slow-dancing with Finn, Tina was suddenly dissolving into tears. The change was so rapid it almost gave Kurt whiplash.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He poked Tina's side, confused. She just cried harder, falling sideways against him until her head was on Kurt's shoulder.

"I wanna dance with him like that!" she wailed into his ear. Her tears were already seeping through his shirt. "I want him holding _me_, with his abs all hard against me and his moves so fluid and and–" She sobbed harder.

Kurt squinted at her. "Are you sure you're talking about Finn?"

"Not F-F-Finn, Mike." She sniffed loudly.

Kurt frowned, trying hard to locate any Mikes in the vicinity and coming up empty. He shrugged his shoulder a few times, making Tina sit back up and lean against the wall instead, before turning to face her.

"Who's Mike?"

"Mike is the hottest guy on earth and he's so kind and nice and pretty and I l-l-love him." She stated and started crying again.

"Okay," Kurt said cautiously, "but who _is _he?"

That made Tina pause and she frowned at him, clearly disapproving of his ignorance. "He's a dancer at the club where Sam performs. The hot Asian one, remember?"

Kurt had a vague recollection that was made fuzzier by the alcohol in his system, but he nodded. Tina smiled through her tears. "Isn't he dreamy?"

Kurt focused harder, trying to recall the relevant details of his one and only visit to the stripper bar in Westerville where Mercedes' slave Sam danced sometimes. It was a challenge because he'd spent a big part of that visit trying not to look at the almost naked guys on the stage or any other mortifying details of the seedy little bar.

"But… isn't he a slave there? Owned by the bar?" he asked without thinking it through, and then wished he hadn't because the momentary smile was wiped right off Tina's face as she buried her face in her hands, a fresh wave of tears flowing.

"He is," she sobbed out. "He's their slave and there's no way I can afford to buy him and my parents don't have the money for that either, and they refuse to take a loan and we just… we _love_ each other, Kurt. And he has to dance for _anyone_ there, and, and _more_."

The crying was out of control now and Kurt patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and got up on unsteady feet to find her some tissues. There were none within sight though, and Santana was nowhere to be seen at the moment either, so Kurt went to the bathroom to grab some toilet paper instead.

On his way there, he couldn't help but imagine being in Tina's situation – what would it feel like, knowing that Blaine was out there, watched and touched by others, with nothing Kurt could do? The thought sobered him up pretty quickly, an empty feeling in his stomach making him nauseated.

Back with Tina, he passed her the wad of toilet paper and she blew her nose loudly before looking up at him with puffy, red eyes.

"We're doomed," she said gravely. "We can only watch each other from afar and sometimes steal a moment or a dance when I save some money. There's no future for us, none!"

She slumped against the wall again, miserable, and Kurt froze, her words striking him to the core. _No future_. Wasn't it exactly what he had with Blaine?

Because the longer he thought about it, the more he was certain he _was _indeed falling for Blaine. He'd known that already, hadn't he? That's why his mood had been so swingy these last few days – because he had feelings for Blaine, but Blaine was so hurt and damaged by his previous owners that there was no way Kurt could ever do anything about it. He would never hurt Blaine in any way, even if it meant he had to keep his feelings hidden forever.

So even though Blaine wasn't a stripper at a seedy bar, he was just as unavailable to him as Mike was to Tina. No future there, either.

Kurt slumped against the wall next to Tina, feeling deeply unhappy. "We need more alcohol."

If she noticed the change of his mood, she didn't show it, just nodded and struggled up. "Yeah. I'll bring us some."

Kurt wasn't sure what they ended up drinking – he just knew it was strong and citrusy, and they drank it straight from the bottle, passing it between them. They didn't talk much, but being in this together felt strangely comforting.

By the time Finn found him and led him out to the car – or maybe hauled would be a more appropriate word – Kurt's legs were doing really weird things and he still felt faintly nauseated. He demanded to have his window open on the way home and Finn, stone-cold sober as the designated driver, just sighed and agreed. By the time they delivered Tina, Rachel and Puck to their respective destinations and got home themselves, the biting cold air has done a pretty good job of sobering Kurt up, at least enough for him to walk mostly straight.

The house was silent when they got there. Everyone was asleep, which was really no wonder since it was almost 3 AM. Finn said goodnight and, yawning widely, went up to his room, but Kurt didn't feel sleepy. Even after the ride home, he still felt melancholy, the echoes of Tina's words ricocheting through him. He went to the kitchen and drank a big glass of tap water, then opened the fridge, feeling kind of hungry. Nothing seemed appealing though, so he just grabbed a bottle of water to take to his bedroom.

On his way to the stairs, he had to pass by the door to Blaine's room, which drew him like a beacon tonight. With barely a second of hesitation, Kurt quietly turned the doorknob.

Blaine was lying on his side with his back to the door and for a moment Kurt felt an irresistible pull to just get closer to the sleeping boy, maybe sit down on the bed. He'd touch Blaine's wrist to feel his pulse, the reassuring rush of blood under warm skin. He'd listen to his calm breathing, gently stroke his hand over the now-healed expanse of Blaine's back, and he would know that at least the boy was safe. Maybe Kurt could have nothing more, but he did have the certainty that as long as he was Blaine's owner, the slave would be warm and fed and well cared for. That was enough.

He resisted – barely – the siren call of Blaine's warm, sleeping body, but he couldn't quite resist the wave of affection that washed over him as he stood in the doorway, watching. Tears that hadn't come up when he was sitting in that corner with Tina, now threatened to choke him. He swallowed them too loudly in the quiet room and waited for the pain to subside.

"It's okay," he whispered when he could finally speak. "You're okay. I've got you, and you've got me. We'll be okay."

Nothing stirred in the house, the silence buzzing in Kurt's ears, and suddenly he realized how creepy the situation was. What was he doing, here in Blaine's room in the middle of the night?

Face hot with embarrassment, he managed to step out of the room and close the door behind him without making any noise, and with a breath of relief, he tiptoed upstairs to his room.

In the dark, quiet room downstairs, one pair of eyes was wide open, one heart pounding rapidly in a skinny chest.


End file.
